Breeding Ground
by Icarus
Summary: Rodney discovers the SGC has shorted the Atlantis mission.


"Hmmph," Rodney snorted, glancing over his shoulder in the mess hall. Sgt. Andrea Yoler brushed by, tray in hand, a wisp of dark brown hair escaping her braid.

"Looks like the engineering schools are doing a little better at cranking out the women than they did when I was in grad school. God, it used to be, what? Three women for every five hundred guys?" Rodney shrugged. "We must have at least forty-three percent women here."

"Yep," John said, not quite awake enough to deal with Rodney yet.

"They're a little better to look at scenery-wise, I suppose, but I'm getting tired of having to worry that one of them might _cry_ or something." Rodney stabbed into a kind of curd that they were calling 'yogurt' but had the texture of squeaky cheese. It squeaked as he chewed noisily. "Wow. This has no flavor whatsoever."

Ford settled his tray next to theirs and gazed after the sergeant appreciatively. "It's nice though."

Come to think of it, John realized, Rodney did have a point. The thought woke him up more than the coffee did.

"I have way more women in my troops, and for Special Ops-?" John cocked his head and clucked his teeth. "That's pretty hard to come by."

He pursed his lips philosophically, tipping his coffee cup until it came dangerously close to spilling all over the table. John liked to push everything to the edge. "Probably has to do with our not knowing if we'd ever get the gate open again." He took a sip. "They probably scraped up every woman they could find."

"What?"

"You know…" John made a vague gesture. Rodney was never all that quick in the morning. Not that he'd ever admit it. "In case we were stuck here."

"What?" Rodney looked dumbfounded. "You're saying they meant for us to _breed?_"

That was hardly polite. John doubted the SGC would ever phrase it like that. "Well. To start a colony, I think. But yeah, I imagine that's part of it. You know, the _colonizing_ part."

"Oh my god. Forty-three percent! They've shorted us!" Rodney seized his arm, wide-eyed. "We'd better get started or all the good ones will be gone. Dibs on Weir." And with that he launched himself from his seat.

Blank-faced, Ford stared after Rodney. "Is he going to do what I think he's going to do?"

John smiled slowly as he scrambled free of the table and chairs. "I _so_ don't want to miss this."

* * *

Thanks to the transporter they missed some of the earliest Rodney-craters, but when John stepped into the ready room, Dr. Weir was wearing an open-mouthed expression and looked like she couldn't quite breathe. 

"…of course you're well past your child-bearing years, but no doubt Dr. Beckett can do something for that."

John stepped behind Rodney and gave her his broadest grin. She didn't acknowledge it, her eyes still fixed on Rodney.

"But I doubt we have anything to worry about because the men in my family have always been amazingly virile -- hearty, Canadian stock, eh? -- and I've never had any complaints about my technique. Oh, well there was that one time, but I was sixteen so what do you expect? I was over-excited."

Ford's poker face was truly amazing. He stood at attention with not so much as a twitch. John was gonna have to watch it if he played cards with the guy.

"Only the best for the both of us," Rodney concluded with an eager nod.

Weir took a deep breath, and with admirable calm, said, "Thank you, Rodney. I… I'm flattered."

"And, of course, best for the colony," Rodney added quickly, his voice slightly embarrassed as if realizing he might have seemed selfish. "Genetically speaking, I mean."

Weir nodded slowly and folded her hands on the table. "I'll keep that in mind. But for now, I think I want to make returning to Earth our first priority."

"Oh well, yes, of course you do, I just wanted to--" He made a little leaping motion with his hands. "--get a jump on things. Because there really isn't anyone else for me, considering," Those hands spun, "you're diplomatic and open-minded and my being bisexual and all that, well," Rodney chuckled nervously, "you're probably the only person here who hasn't had gay stereotypes beaten into their brains by the military."

John choked. Ford wasn't doing too well either, his eyes bugging out of his head. All of which seemed to finally catch Rodney's attention.

"What are you doing here?" Rodney snapped, glancing in John's direction. He indicated Weir. "Can't you see we're having a private conversation?"

"I'm sorry," John said in his most amiable voice as he stepped forward. "Am I interrupting?"

"Yes, well," Weir took advantage of Rodney's temporary pause (probably _very_ temporary, knowing Rodney). "We've all learned a lot today." She checked her watch. "It's a only half hour early, but I can't see that we shouldn't start this meeting now."

Her voice betrayed only a shred of desperation.

"Except you haven't had breakfast," Rodney pointed out cheerfully, almost sing-song. "I can get you some coffee if you like. Or, well, have someone from my staff fetch it. I don't have time for stuff like that. But I can be very accommodating; you'll see."

Weir rubbed her temples with her fingertips. "No. Thank you, Rodney, I'll be fine."

John sank into a chair. He hoped that, whatever they had to discuss, it would be sufficiently life-threatening -- like, say, imminent doom -- to distract him from sudden uncomfortable images of Rodney doing very bad things with Atlantis personnel. He was used to Rodney over-sharing, but occasionally it was just too… visual. He rubbed his face and slouched.

At the end of the meeting Rodney trailed John out through the sliding glass doorway.

"I think that went really well." Rodney virtually bounced.

"Amazingly well," John said dryly, mentally congratulating Dr. Weir on her cool.

"So." Rodney followed John a little too closely. "Do you think she'd be into an open relationship?" he asked. "Because at least seventeen percent of the men are going to be left out in the cold and I don't want to pass up an opportunity like that."

John truly had nothing to say.


End file.
